


And Baby Makes '666'

by Dokuba



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dokuba/pseuds/Dokuba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murderface claims he's pregnant to get out of teaching music lessons, and Toki is only too willing to help out with 'de pregnants.' Life lessons are learned, household tips exchanged, and Charles gets a migraine. Some hints of S/T(NOT MPREG! Just extremely stupid)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Baby Makes '666'

**Author's Note:**

> I swear that this is NOT MPREG! D:  
> Just something extremely stupid.
> 
> This story is blatantly inspired by an episode of the 80's British show 'The Young Ones,' which is almost as violent and stupid as Metalocalypse...almost.

**And Baby Makes '666'**

 

It was ‘Mandatory Mondays Meeting’ day at Mordhaus. It was a day that everyone despised and dreaded when Tuesday began and Sunday ended. Everyone hated 'Mandatory Mondays Meeting' day, most especially so was the manager of the world’s most brutal band Charles Foster Ofdensen, who on this day was forced for long periods of time to use small words and the occasional shiny object to retain his client’s attention long enough to drive his messages into their brilliant but very thick skulls. It was time-consuming, tedious, demeaning, and nerve-wracking work If it weren’t for all the lovely, lovely money the members of _Dethklok_ made for him, Charles would have been the cause of many broken bones and laser pens shoved up nostrils long ago.

Nathan Explosion let out a long exasperated sigh “Dammit, where’s Murderface? I wanna get this shit over with so I can go back to sleep.” Mummers of agreement followed the lead singer’s remark. No one liked waking up at the ungodly hour of 1 pm for a meeting with their sour faced manager.

The said manager scanned the faces of the members of _Dethklok_ with detached interest as they waited for the ‘World’s Most Brutal Bassist’ to appear. The band members present looked to be in various stages of consciousness. Pickles appeared as if he had passed out with his eyes opened again.

At long last the great black doors creaked open. “Shorry I’m late.” Murderface muttered as he took his seat next to Toki.

Charles cleared his throat before he began. “As I was discussing earlier last Monday, our itinerary for this week will be concentrating on non-profit organizations that have recently renamed small communities and major roadways after you” Ofdensen smacked his papers onto the table with enough authority to snap his clients into semi-wakefulness. “Most notably of which is the _PuchBalls Organization_ who have generously donated their funds to repair our blood fountain in the main entrance.”

“Damn, that was sweet of ‘em.” Pickles commented as he nibbled on a tequila popsicle, proving for the moment that he was awake and listening. “We should send ‘em a T-shirt. People like shirts, right?”

“I did receive a request from _PuchBalls_ this morning, and they did ask for a specific service from one of you.”

Nathan looked up from picking at the table’s wood fibers with a black painted fingernail. “What? They want us to cut a ribbon with a novelty pair of scissors or somethin’?”

“If we do, lemme sharpen them firsht.” Murderface stabbed the table with his trusty left-boot knife.

“I’m sorry to say that there are no ribbon cuttings involved.” Ofendson readjusted his glasses and breathed deeply before uttering the dreaded sentence that he knew would send his band on end. “They’ve requested a music lesson.” The undesired statement caused many snorts and groans to predictably ensue.

“Well fuck that shit! I ain’t telling no kid how ‘ta hit a bucket with a stick!” Pickles tossed the bare popsicle stick away and pulled out an ice cold Corona from the mini fridge under the table. “You dicks can count me out!”

“I don’t play any instruments” Nathan Explosion crossed his arms. “And I ain’t ever doing that damn yodeling thing ever again!” he glared at Ofendson to challenge him otherwise.

Charles’ left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at the lead singer. “Well I was thinking more along the lines of guitar-”

“NOT IT!” Toki shrieked and waved his arms triumphantly. “I calls it! I calls it!”

“I has doctor’s note.” Skwisgaar sat up to pull a crumpled document from his back pocket and tossed it to his manager. “It for because I’s aller-genic to tree pollens outside so’s I can’ts leaves de house!”

“This is dated July of 1998" Charles scowled over the well worn edge of the document.

“Ja, I’s saves it for special occasions.” Skwisgaar smiled and strummed his guitar, obviously proud of himself.

All eyes turned expectantly to the last band member who all but radiated with black bottled rage. “You guysh SHUCK!” he finally snarled after a few seconds of glowering.

“All you have to do is to lead them through the basic bars.” Charles pointed to the document in his hand “If you don’t do this, then we’ll have to tear down all the repairs done to the blood fountain, or reimburse the organization of it’s funds.”

“Can’t they jusht record me teaching? They let Shkwishgaar do it.”

“Dat’s because I has hangover.” Swkisgaar smirked as his fingers glided over his guitar.

Ofdensen tapped a finger to his desk to drive his point into each syllable. “William, it would only require a few minutes of your time--”

“Well, I CAN’T!” Murderface glowered at the Swede sitting across the table. “Unlike Blondie here, I have a legitimate medical condition.” The brutal bassist held his breath for a moment. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Silence around the room, except for Pickles who was laughing so hard he was starting to puke.

Nathan broke the silence with a snort “That’s impossible.”

“That’sh what she shaid!” Murderface cried while wringing his hands with distress. “You jusht can’t trusht women nowadays, the shoul murderersh!”

“Ha ha!” Skwisgaar jeered “Murderface gets pregnants!”

“Laugh all you want Barbie!” Murderface’s green eyes narrowed slyly at his sneering bandmate. “It’ll happen to you before you know it!”

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes and emitted an infamous _pfft’d_ “It coulds never happens to me! I uses protection when I has de sex...” the Swed trailed off as five unconvinced faces stared blankly back at him. “...uh, nevers?” he lamely finished and fingered his guitar nervously.

Ofdensen pinched the bridge of his nose and inwardly counted to ten before speaking “Nathan is right to observe the impossibility of your statement. There is absolutely no possibility whatsoever that a man could conceive a child.”

“Dis is weirds!” Toki hesitatingly poked at Murderface’s belly, which jiggled back in response. “Are you’s gonna gets even more fat and eat pickles on strawberry jam and cheese sandwich like dat lady in the teevee does?”

“Hey, that sounds pretty good!” Murderface nodded his approval of Toki’s sandwich suggestion. “I could go for one of those right now.”

“I cannat believe that yer buyin’ this” Pickles pointed to the youngest band member with his second Corona bottle. “Don’t ya know anything about the birds an’ the bees?”

“Yeah! I know’s all abouts de bees and birds” Toki huffed. “Bird tries to eats bee and bee stings bird in de throats until bird chokes on bee and dey both dies from soffo-cations, right?”

“Meh, sounds like sex to me!” Pickles sat back and took a swig from his Mexican beer.

Deciding that the meeting was over on their own authority, the band members of _Dethklok_ scooted out from their chairs and began to make their way to the door with Murderface leading the way. Toki trailed behind the bassist, his face alight with excitement that bordered on being bubbly. “Are’s you going to has baby soon? Is d’ere anythings I can do’s for you?”

“Oh, there’sh lotsh you can do for me Toki.” Murderface nodded at his eager helper appreciatively. “Pregnanshee is a lot of work, you know!”

Charles shook his head and began to shuffle his papers into a manilla envelope, a sure sign of his defeat. He could already tell that it was going to be one of _those_ days.

 

*******************************

 

Half an hour later found the band together in the commune room. Their supposedly pregnant bassist was comfortably nestled onto an oversized black leather beanbag chair with Toki at his side, who was being very helpful by holding a ball of yarn while Murderface knitted a black baby bonnet (without much success). Both Pickles and Skwisgaar sat staring in open wonder at Murderface’s belly, which had grown twice it’s natural size since the meeting with their manager had ended. Nathan had his back turned and stared intently at the television, refusing to be a part of the nonsense and yet morbidly curious enough to be within hearing range of it.

“Dude,” Pickles pointed at Murderface’s engorged belly. “You really _are_ pregnant, aren’t ch’ya?”

“So’s...” Skwisgaar’s fingers picked at his guitar. “You has a name for de parasite?”

“Fuckoff you pisshant!” Murderface replied.

Pickles and Toki burst out laughing at the look on Skwisgaar’s face. The Swede was taken aback enough to pause at his compulsive guitar strumming. “Well, fucks you too!” he snarled.

“That’sh what I want to name it, Fuckoff U. Pisshant!” Murderface sniffed and stabbed a (sharpened) knitting needle into the bean bag, sending several foam beans flying. “I alwaysh wanted to name my dog thatsh.”

“It’s a cool name!” Toki agreed as he unraveled more yarn. “I’s name my next goldfish dat maybies.”

Charles Ofdensen entered unannounced into the room. Accompanying him was a hooded guard carrying a large rolled poster. The band manager looked at Murderface’s stomach with a grim expression. “Gentlemen, I am here to give you a brief lecture on human conception.”

“Can’ts it wait untils next Monday meeting?” Toki shot a disapproving look at Charles and shook his yarn ball. “We’s busy hasing a pregnants here!”

“Yes, I can see that.” Charles pulled out his trusty laser pen and motioned the black hooded guard to unroll the poster of two pictures of human male and female anatomy. “Firstly, all ladies are born with what we call a ‘uterus.’ That organ is used to grow a baby which takes nine months to gestate. So you see here, this hole in the lady’s pelvic region is specifically designed to allow the head of an infant to pass easily through. And over here you can see that the man’s pelvis has neither room or a womb for an infant of any sort to--”

Murderface cut off the lesson with a loud _pfft’d_ in perfect imitation of Skwisgaar with an addition of flying spittle from his gap. Drool sprayed all over the black baby bonnet he was knitting, or attempting to knit. “You shcientisht and your shoullessh textbooksh got jack shit!”

“Yeah!” Pickles agreed over the drinking straw of his Fuzzy Navel. “Ya glasses-types think ya need to know all the things about everything, don’t ‘cha?”

“They knows everythings about being a dildos!” Skwisgaar snickered.

“A dildo-licker, dat’s for sure.” Toki nodded.

“William,” Charles’s voice sounded strained with wearing patience. “You do know that it is physically impossible for you to bear children.”

“Shcience can’t explain the miracle of birth!” Murderface threw down his tangled ball of yarn and glowered at his manager. “Can your shcience explain away how the shun shetsh, or how the flowersh bloom?”

“Well, yes actually.” Charles replied. He directed attention towards Murderface’s huge belly with his laser pen. “I am growing increasingly concerned about the abnormal growth of your stomach. I strongly advise that you to check yourself into the hospital for an inspection.”

“No can do!” Murderface looked smug. “I have shome very important appointmentsh shoon. Ishn’t that right Toki?”

“We’s has full day ahead!” Toki counted from his fingers. “Car shoppings, back massa-gies, pickled sandwich lunch, deevee-veedees rentings, ice cream and pickle sandwich dessert, oh! And also maybe some roller coasters rides tomorrow, ja?”

“This could be a serious medical emergency!” Their manager threw up his arms with exasperation. “For all we know it could be dangerous buildup of intestinal gas, and it could rupture at any time!”

“Heh heh, gas!” Pickles chortled.

“And you all remember that you have tried this ‘parenting’ thing before, right?”

Blank stares.

“The fat kid?” Charles offered.

Someone coughed.

“The one that you abandoned on the island of feral man slaughtering cats?” Charles motioned to Nathan across the room, who had been silently watching the lecture. “Space helicopters?”

The lightbulb in Nathan’s head sputtered on. “Ohhh! You mean that one _really_ fat kid!”

“Oh ja, now I’s remembers dat charities.” Skwisgaar nodded and strummed his guitar.

“You all did try to be his father, and it yielded a great deal of dissatisfaction for all of you.” Charles pointed to Murderface glaring from his beanbag. “Having a baby will only repeat that incident. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

“Thish ish different! Thish is not for shome shtupid charity!” Murderface growled and kicked his booted feet angrily on his beanbag. “Now I’d really appreciate it if you can pleashe kindly leave before I shove my knitting needlesh into your eyeballsh!”

“Fine, fine! Have it your way.” Ofdensen turned to leave the room with the hooded guard closely following behind. In a rare display of nearly losing his temper, their manager turned around to shout back ”Don’t say that I didn’t warn you when your intestines rupture!” before slamming the heavy metal doors behind him.

“Sheesh, a little defenshive are we?” Murderface muttered as he picked up his knitting project.

 

*******************************

 

After two rented ‘deevee-veedees’ of violent zombie movie gore later...

“You know Picklesh, I don’t think that I would want to shubjugate my kid though boarding shchool.” Murderface had taken his shirt off and was in the process of rubbing big globs of cocoa butter over his swelling stomach, which was now nearly four times the size of his normal belly pudge. “Public shchools would be far more brutal. I mean, look what it did to me! And I want thish little bastard to shuffer just like I did. Best thing for it really.”

“You’re not pregnant Murderface.” Nathan growled from across the room as he absentmindedly channel surfed. He glanced over his shoulder to look at the bassist’s unnaturally large and sticky belly with a disgusted look. “I think you got worms or somethin.’”

“As if YOU would know!” Murderface sneered as his dirty fingernails scrapped the bottom of the lotion jar. “Toki! Didsh you find the resht of my wholeshale cocoa butter?”

“Ja! I finds it alright!” Toki popped into the room carrying a sealed bucket wrapped in his arms. “You says get de lavender one, ok?”

“It’ll have to do.” Murderface cracked opened the bucket and peered inside with a grimace. “I don’t shee why they don’t make ham lotion anymore, I loved that shtuff.”

“I’ve always used mayonnaise whenever I gat dry elbows.” Pickles commented as he sipped his Margarita.

“Thatsh right! I forgot that you can ushe mayonaishe for a lotion.” Murderface scratched his chin. “I wonder if I could get the ham shmell into it?”

“Dude, I gat that covered” Pickles lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper as he divulged his most secret family recipe “My mom used to stick a slab of ham in the mayo and let it sit for a while, then the ham flavor jus’ seeps through. It’s so easy!”

“Maybe it make great snack?” Toki asked.

“It does for crackers!” Skwisgaar nodded. “I tries it, it great and eco-nomicals for’s my budget!”

““You don’tsh shay?” I’ll have to give it a try then!”

Nathan suppressed a shudder and turned the TV volume up in an attempt to drown out the sounds of his band mates exchanging household tips. This whole day was turning out to be more unbrutal by the minute, and the lead singer was unsure of how much more of this weirdness he could take.

“Ohmygad TURN DOWN THE DAMN VOLUME NAT’N!” Pickles yelled over the hideously cheerful music of an infomercial. “Other people gat ears too, ya know!”

The visionary lyricist of Dethklok pressed the mute button and whipped around to glare his green eyes at his band. “If you ladies wanna discuss flower arranging you can do it in the tea room. I’m sick and tired of hearing about this lame-ass talk of babies and ham!”

“Hey! Don’t talks about Murderface baby likes dat!” Toki cried while placing a protective hand on Murderface’s shoulder. “You’s being such a mean dick all day!”

“Thank you, Toki.” Murderface frowned disapprovingly at Nathan. “Sheeing ash how I am unable to properly defend myshelf in my delicate condition from hooligans.”

“Hey,” Pickles chuckled. ”I’ll bet you five bucks that yer kid’s gonna be a one hella’va hooligan!”

“Or maybie’s it grows up to be’s a Mortician?” Skwisgaar added. “That would be totallies metal!”

“Yeah! And I’s can comes to shows for free and see’s ladies saws in half and rabbits comes out of hats!” Toki grinned as he handed a spatula laden with lavender scented cocoa butter to Murderface.

“Who knowsh”? Murderface smeared the big glob of lotion on his belly and began to rub it in tenderly. “I have a feeling that it might be the Antichrisht!”

Toki paused and looked up. “B-but you says I's was de Anti-christ!” he looked crestfallen.

“That wash a long time ago Toki, other Antichrishtsh might be born. Didya ever think of that?”

“Why does it has to be’s about you always, hm?” Skwisgaar added “You’s cans be so full of selfish, Toki.”

Toki’s face fell until he looked like he would either break Skwisgaar’s face or burst into tears. Instead he abruptly stood up and headed towards the door at a stiff pace.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Murderface cried.

“I has other things to do den help stupids baby!” The younger man shot back before breaking into a run down the long hallways.

Nathan looked over his shoulder in time to glance Toki’s back disappearing down the hall. The lead singer quirked an eyebrow.

Murderface shrugged at Toki’s odd behavior. “Well, crap! Now who’sh gonna help me with my cocoa butter? Thish pregnanshee is doing hell to make shtretch marksh on my tattoo.” He looked up hopefully at Pickles, who immediately pretended to be passed out on the floor (it was his only defense.)

Nathan shot up from his seat “I gotta go take a piss” he muttered and made quick his exit through the same hallway the rhythm guitarist took.

“I’s not touching...” Skwisgaar jabbed the neck of his guitar towards Murderface’s huge belly. _“Dat_ for all’s the coffee’s in de worlds!”

“Well that’sh a crying shame” Murderface shook his head sadly. “For I sheem to remember an incident not too long ago in the Dethcopter bathroom involving a certain blonde guitarisht jerking his hog off to a picture of a certain naked brunette guitarisht in the hot tu-“

“Alrights already!” Red faced, Skwisgaar stood up and stiffly walked towards the heaving mound of stomach that belonged to Murderface. “You don’ts has to screams it out!” the guitarist hissed as he scooped out a blob of lotion with a spatula.

 

*******************************

 

Several minutes later, Toki slammed the heavy wooden doors of his room shut. His face had been fixed into a pout ever since he had left the commune room. He plopped himself down into his work desk and picked up his latest model plane to work on. The last thing he wanted to do was think about the new addition. What was so great about it anyway? “Sos’ stupid” the pout curled into a frown as nimble fingers snapped a plastic piece in place. Soon everyone will be too busy for him, no one would care if he lived or died. They will all be preoccupied with the stupid squirming mound of drooling, screaming and shitting worm of a human.

Toki’s mind reeled. He will have to think about protecting his models from grubby little hands, and his precious candy stash as well...and what if Deddybear got stolen? “Fuckings kids” he muttered darkly. “How dare it ruins my life!” _How dare it replace me?_ Toki wanted to say, but was too afraid to voice. It will become all the more real if said out loud.

Someone tapped on the door.

Toki ground his teeth together and threw down the model plane. “Jævla Svenske!” he growled and stormed across the room to fling open the door with a snarl plastered over his face. “Fucks off Skwisg-ahhh...” Toki’s voice petered away when he realized that it was not something tall, skinny, and blonde in his doorway but someone big, dark, and looming. “Nate’ns?”

“Can I come in?” The big lead singer rumbled.

“S-sure.” Toki stepped back to allow the American inside. Truth be told, he was a little intimidated by Nathan entering his private domain. Only Skwisgaar had the gall, and sometimes Pickles had the drunkeness to invade his room.

Nathan’s eyebrows arched when he saw broken pieces of the smashed model plane strewn about the desk. “You alright?” he asked.

“I’s peachy as pie!” Toki scowled and settled into his work chair with his legs tucked under him. “What you doings here?” he demanded.

Nathan took a seat across from Toki on the small twin bed. “Murderface has been a royal pain in the ass since this whole ‘pregnant’ stuff got started. And so have you” he stared pointedly at Toki.

“What did I’s do?” Toki demanded defensively. “I’s not the one with the baby’s tumor in mine’s gutsacks!”

Nathan snorted. “It might as well be you, with the way you’ve been going along with that bullshit” he paused for a moment. “But now you’re all pissed at the whole thing. What gives?”

“Why’s de hells you cares?” Toki scowled and spun on his chair nervously. Nathan had never asked him such a direct personal question before, and it was getting creepy. “It not of your beeswax.”

“The hell it is!” Nathan’s snarl caused Toki to flinch. “I don’t fuckin’ believe that Murderface is pregnant. But I’ve seen a LOT of weird crap in my time. So if he is, he’s gonna need you to stop acting like a little shit and help him around!”

“What!?” Toki’s voice rose a few bars in his indignation. Spittle flew out to cling to his fu manchu. “Hell’s no! No fuckin’s ways! I’s be not doings his dirty socks, EVER!”

“Dude, calm down Toki.” Nathan held up a hand at his companion, he didn’t expect such a heated reaction from his guitarist. “I didn’t mean for you to play his mom or any--”

“Shutup! It always de same ‘ting!” Toki’s grasp on English slipped as his temper rose. “You’s all like, ‘Oh Toki’s is good boy, he does every’ting we said! Has Toki does workings with cow beasts, and make Toki cut woods and dig in frozen dirts all times and has Toki sleeps with no foods! Then Toki screws up, you’s mean and beats me up with stick. Then’s you forgets about me and nots lets me inside _so’s I can’s die in snow!”_ The last words were nearly a scream. Toki clamped his mouth shut and looked away. Suddenly silent.

Completely speechless, Nathan could only stare slack jawed at his fuming guitarist. “Wow, thats really...ah, fucked up” he finally stated.

Still looking away, Toki’s lower lip began to tremble.

“Hey, look.” Nathan reached out to clamp Toki’s shoulder with one massive hand. “We’re not gonna work you to the bone, and we’re not gonna kick you out into the cold either. We need you here, not just for the band.”

“How’s?” Toki sniffed but did not turn.

“I’ve noticed how Murderface been ordering you around for one thing.”

“What you mean?” Toki wiped his face with his arm and looked at Nathan, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “All’s I do’s is makes him weird sandwich and rubs his lotions, why dat such big deals?”

“He trusts you.” Nathan shrugged “I dunno, almost like you’re a nanny in training or something.”

“Nan-nee’s?”

“Like a baby-sitter...kinda like a parent I guess.”

Toki’s eyes widened to twice their size. Nathan’s first reaction was to put up defenses against a raving Norwegian enraged at being compared to anything remotely close to his supposed ‘parents.’ Instead, Toki’s eyes began to sparkle. “Me? Like a parents?” he breathed with wonder.

Nathan’s stomach began to quake with uneasiness. This had to be stopped NOW before it got too weird. “I didn’t mean anything like _that._ I was talking about how Murderface’s been treating you like shit and you doing all this weird stuff for him...”

“He choosing ME to helps dis pregnants!” Toki rose from his swivel chair, his face alight with purpose. “And I was such asshole too” his face fell momentarily and he sat down, but then lit up with determination. “I’s has to tell Murderface dat’s I’s honards to be’s daddy!” Unable to contain his exuberance, the little rhythm guitarist launched off from his seat to give Nathan a bone crunching hug.

 _‘I’m gonna be sick.’_ Nathan thought and turned pale as the magnitude of what he had started began to sink in, as well as his ribcage. Oblivious to Nathan’s predicament, Toki broke the hug and affectionately patted the lead singer on the head. “Thanks you Nate’ns! You really are my friend!” Like a brown and blue streak of lightning, the Norwegian took off down the corridors with a skip in his stride to confess his deceleration of being ‘honards’ to Murderface.

Nathan’s left eye began to twitch sporadically. With a groan he buried his face into his hands “Dear GOD what have I done?”

 

*******************************

 

“...and I’s has to say dat I was a real big jerkoff to you’s for no reason!” Toki looked down at Murderface intently and bowed his head with shame. “And I’s really sorries for dat. Can’s you ever forgives me?”

The brutal bassist reached out to pat his bandmate’s hand reassuringly. “Toki, it’sh time.”

“What, for another feets rub?” Toki wrinkled his nose “I’s tells you alreadies dat I needs gas mask before I do’s it again–“

“I mean it’sh TIME you dick!” Murderface’s slitted eyes widened until they bulged. “My contraptionsh are shtarting!”

“What is dis contrap-tions?” Skwisgaar asked from the couch.

“Oooohh wow!” Toki shrieked with much arm waving. “He’s hasing a babies NOW!”

“Oh nooooo! Where de hospital!?” Skwisgaar flung his guitar aside to join his fellow guitarist in the screaming and arm waving.

“Oh God, my ASSH!” Murderface screeched as he writhed in pain.

Pickles slammed down the last of his Bloody Mary and tossed the glass aside. “Dude, this is too intense for me. I’m outta here!” He calmly walked past both the beanbag and the screaming guitarists without much interference. “I need a smoke, or a piss.”

Nathan rounded a corner in time to see Pickles leaving the commune room. The drummer pointed behind him towards the heaving Murderface and the two hysterical Scandenavians running around the beanbag like two chickens that just had their heads lopped off. “De’re all yours Nate’n. Have fun.”

Green eyes narrowed. Crooked teeth flashed. Enough was enough. Nathan burst into the room by kicking the partially closed doors open and strode over with deadly purpose to give Murderface a hard smack on the head. “Shut the fuck up Murderface! I’ve had enough of this bullshit and I’m calling a medic!”

“Don’t hits him! He has baby!” Toki grabbed Murderface’s ankles and pulled them apart to scream into the bassist’s ass. “I’s helpings you baby! I’s sorries I hopes you dead once upon a times, but it’s okay! You can’s comes out now!”

“Let me do’s it, I’s know the C.P.R’s!” Skwisgaar roughly shoved Toki out of the way and stuck his face dangerously close towards Murderface’s large behind. “Where is it? I don’ts see–“

Unfortunately for Skwisgaar, his impulsive act of heroism put him directly into the line of fire when the inevitable happened. Like a mighty beast unleashed from the dark pits of hell, the Mother of All Farts roared its triumphant escape like a mighty peal of thunder directly into Skwisgaar’s face. From the topmost spires of Mordhaus a murder of crows fled at the unholy sound, forever leaving their nests behind. Down in the kitchens several floors below, Chef Jean Pierre glanced up at the china cabinet where several plates and a few saucers clinked and rattled from the vibration.

Skwisgaar mercifully passed out after receiving a direct lungful, the other two victims were not so lucky. On and on the fart endured for what seemed like an eternity until the very air itself took on a greenish hue. Nathan had fallen to the floor gasping for breath and buried his nose into the crook of his elbow while Toki tried to claw his way through the floor to escape the fumes.

At long last the monumental fart died down to a mere sputter before ending with a loud ‘pop.’ Utterly spent, Murderface laid like a salted slug on his ruined leather beanbag, his eyes crossed and his brain just bordering on the edge of consciousness.

It was then that Pickles decided to renter the room. He head heard the thunderous fart from the bathroom and had returned to investigate. He smiled a toothy grin when he saw Murderface’s deflated stomach. “Oh ho! Lookie here! Yer belly’s gone back to it’s old self!” The drummer waltzed across the room without paying the deadly greenish air any mind. Apparently toxic farts had as little effect on Pickles as did 99.9% of the narcotics on the black market did. Pickles casually stepped over the prone forms of his bandmates to get to the beanbag and pulled out a cigar from his pocket and shoved it into Murderface’s toothgap. “Congratulations dude, it’s a bouncin’ baby turd!” Pickles chuckled as he pulled out his favorite zippo lighter.

Some force unknown had pulled Nathan out from his stupor in time for him to see Pickles place one calloused thumb over the zippo cap as he was about to light the cigar. It took only a moment for Nathan to realize that a room full of noxious gas was not the best place for an open flame, but by then it was far too late.

“Pickles! Don’t–“

 **KABOOOM!**

 

*******************************

 

One hour later in one of the bigger hospital rooms...

“Damn, this sucks.” Pickles’s bandaged thumb fumbled over his ruined zippo lighter. His hands were wrapped in bandages up to the elbows and both his eyebrows and goatee were a bit singed from the blast. “This one cost me twenty bucks” he sighed and tossed the lighter behind him. “I’ll have to buy another one I s’pose.”

“YOU thinksh thish shucksh?” Murderface glowered at Pickles. The bassist was wrapped from his toes to his waist in bandages, being that his butt was what received the brunt of the explosion. “I’ll be farting through a tube for a week thanksh to you!” he crossed his arms and fumed.

“At least d’ere was no babies to cooks from the explosion.” Toki rubbed the bridge of his nose where his band-aid was itching. Both him and Nathan received the fewest injuries from the explosion, mostly nicks and slight burns. By luck Nathan had happened to be in the right place away from the blast, but Toki owed his protection to someone directly. He smiled at Skwisgaar sitting across from him, who’s entire face was covered in bandages minus his blonde hair and the two holes cut for his eyes to peek through. “Thanks you so’s much for savings me from ass attack! You’s a real pal Skwisgaar!”

Skwisgaar said something to Toki, but his words were muffled by the bandages that covered his mouth. The surly Swede strummed his guitar in a pissed off manner to emphasize how he felt.

“Maybies you’s right Skwisgaar,” Toki nodded solemnly as if he understood what his bandmate was trying to say. “Maybies dis for best. _Dethklok_ is too brutals for a babies, I thinks.” The rhythm guitarist sighed wistfully and looked out the window. “But I’s was a littles hopings to be like a parents.”

“Ah well, ya live an’ learn. An’ I’ve learned that a roomful of farts is no place to light a cigar!” Pickles shrugged and opened a beer can with his front teeth. “An’ also there’s no passible way that a dude can get knocked up. Thank gad for that!”

Toki fidgeted with a band-aid on his finger “but stills...”

Nathan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid. At least the stupidity of Murderface’s ‘pregnancy’ was over. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll buy you a hamster. How ‘bout it?”

“Really?” Toki brightened up immediately at the prospect of a new pet. “Can’s I get an alli-gators to be his friend too? I’s always wanting alli-gators pal! They can’s be best friends!”

“Um...”

After a light tap on the door, Band Manager Charles Foster Ofdensen entered the room. “Gentlemen, I see that you have successfully survived a direct blast of combustible intestinal gas, that’s good. But I must say that I did warn you–“

“Pissh off you dick!” Murderface snapped as he tried to reach a nearby scalpel. “Jusht becaushe you’re right about one little thing doeshn’t mean you have to be a total douchebag about it!”

Ofdensen’s eyes narrowed considerably as he watched the bassist struggle within the confines of his hospital bed. “Well then, since you are no longer ‘pregnant’ and have plenty of free time on your hands, why don’t we go visit the _PuchBalls Organization_ downstairs? They’ve been waiting in the lobby since this morning for their bass lesson.”

At a snap from their manager’s fingers, several hooded guards appeared from the door to surround the hospital bed containing Murderface. Being that he was unable to reach any sharp instruments, Murderface was easily whisked away on his hospital bed. Charles gave the other bandmembers an eerie smile before following the ill fated bassist down the corridors, whose shrieks and sputtered curses echoed across the hallways.

The other members of _Dethklok_ shuddered at the fate of Murderface being forced to give music lessons.

“I hopes I never get the pregnants.” Toki muttered as the doors swung shut. “It far too’s brutal for’s me!”

 

 **END**


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